Ready to Fall: Emile's Tale
by Nobreiner
Summary: Noble Four. The Merciless Wrath of Noble. He was a true Spartan, defiant to the end. This is his story.


**Ready to Fall: Emile's Tale**

**August 30, 2552, Sinoviet ship breaking facility, Aszod, Reach**

Emile watched as the first Pelican went down in flames, and barely managed to glimpse Six diving away from the wreckage before the Phantom responsible flew to a position above him. Emile tensed in the seat of the _Onager_ as the Phantom's hatch slid open. He knew he couldn't lose the MAC gun, and prepared to fight as a zealot-class elite dropped out of the Phantom and onto the platform. The elite activated his energy gauntlet and prepared to cut into the platform's control hatch. What the zealot didn't expect, however, was the hatch to explode outward in a hail of buckshot and shattered glass. The zealot fell backwards, and Emile climbed out of the resulting gap, cocking the shotgun's pump once before finishing the alien off with a point-blank blast to its scaly face. Cocking his shotgun again and stepping fully out of the MAC gun's control chamber, Emile shouted defiantly, "Whose next?!" In response Emile felt a blinding pain erupt in his chest as he was lifted into the air.

Looking down Emile saw the bright cyan blade of an energy sword protruding from his chest, before it slowly retracted as a four-fingered hand clutched at his neck. Ignoring the pain, Emile twisted in the alien's grip, while simultaneously drawing his trusty Kukri. As Emile drew back the Kukri, he roared into the alien's face, "I'M READY! How 'bout you?!" before lunging forward, burying the Kukri into the elite's neck and tackling it off the platform. The fall sent Emile and the zealot rolling along the deck beneath the MAC gun, until finally Emile managed to pin the wounded elite beneath him. Grabbing his Kukri's hilt from its place in the Elite's neck, Emile used his dwindling strength to drive it deeper into the Elite's throat. The Elite roared in pain and fury, but only managed a pained gurgle as blood began pooling in its throat, blocking its air supply. As Emile drove the knife inch by inch deeper into the creature's throat, it began thrashing wildly in an attempt to buck him off. Unfortunately one of its flailing hands managed to land a solid punch into Emile's wounded chest, causing the Spartan's eyes to water and a gasp of pain to escape his lips. Grunting in exertion, Emile used every ounce of his muscle to violently jerk the knife upwards, severing the Elite's spine and silencing its protests.

As the body of the zealot went limp beneath him, Emile flipped himself off of the alien, sliding his Kukri out in the process. As the pain in Emile's chest began to slowly fade into a cold numbness (a feeling Emile knew from experience to be bad sign) Emile slowly began to crawl over to the platform's railing. With some effort, Emile pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the rail as the uncomfortable cold feeling began to spread to his limbs. Despite this, Emile still managed to grip his Kukri tightly. Turning his head to the side, Emile was able to make out through his blurring vision Noble Six standing out on the dock, Keyes' Pelican hovering nearby. Oddly, Six wasn't moving, just standing there as the marines on the Pelican beckoned urgently.

Emile was vaguely aware of the scratchy voices of the COM channel blaring in his helmet, but his mind was swimming too much to make anything out. "_What the hell are you doing, Six? _" Emile thought acidly, "_Get on the Pelican, you have to get out of here!"_ Then, in a brief moment of clarity, Emile understood. Six must have seen the Elite stab him, and was going to stay behind! "_NO!" _Emile roared mentally, "_I can still fight! I'm not done yet!"_ Emile then attempted to push himself up, only to fall back, wheezing. Looking down at his chest, Emile saw that blood had already begun to dribble from the two gashes on his front, each puncturing one of his lungs. Sighing in defeat, Emile leaned his head back against the hard metal of the rail. "_I'm sorry Six."_ Emile thought dejectedly, then, with the last of his strength, Emile sheathed his Kukri and muttered, "Give 'em hell, Six. Kill some of those bastards for me." Giving a small, pained huff of laughter, Emile smirked and let his vision fade into darkness.


End file.
